


A Planned Sacrifice

by Rueitae



Series: Rue's Bad Things Happen Bingo [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, F/M, First Kiss, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, POV Pidge | Katie Holt, Paladins are used to doing crazy stunts so don't blame them too much, Pidge | Katie Holt-centric, Sacrifice, Tattoos, Torture, because the Coalition is varied, i am really happy with how this turned out!, paralyzed with fear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:28:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24238807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rueitae/pseuds/Rueitae
Summary: “We’ve had worse in the name of the Coalition,” Pidge huffs. She bites her lip. “These people have done so much to help already that if me sleeping in the forest for a night to gain the favor of their god is what it takes to get even more supplies and a safe place for refugees?” She meets Lance’s worried gaze. “I can’t pass that up.” Shifting her eyes sternly, she continues, “you can’t afford to pass that up.”~~~~~And then Pidge pays the price for making assumptions.
Relationships: Lance/Pidge | Katie Holt
Series: Rue's Bad Things Happen Bingo [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668730
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	A Planned Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Romwaeta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romwaeta/gifts).



> With some brainstorming from the discord server. The prompt was 'Paralyzed with Fear' requested by Romwaeta!

“Are you  _ sure _ you’re comfortable, Pidge?”

Pidge considers Lance’s earnest question by reviewing her situation. She isn’t...uncomfortable, in terms of physical needs at least. The purple fabric that drapes over her like an Ancient Greek robe is soft and roomy, just the way she likes her clothing. The bunched up cloth around the bend in her knees and shoulder blades allows her to barely register curled up against Lance’s chestplate, which she knows from her own armor isn’t much of a pillow. Her wrists and ankles, though joined together by the Altean cuffs, don’t cut into her skin. Despite not being able to move them, they aren’t uncomfortable, strictly.

Emotionally, everything screams that this entire absurd situation is wrong. Tied up as a sacrificial offering and being carried to said site by her teammate are so opposite in the spectrum of things she  _ wants _ to have happen and things she does  _ not _ want to have happen that even her rational and quick thinking mind can hardly come to grips with it. 

“I’m fine,” she lies, if only to make Lance feel less guilty than he already looks, being the one bringing her out in the middle of an alien forest in a more than vulnerable state. “It’s just one night, right?” she continues casually, gaze roving around the canopy of blue-tinted alien pines. “Get a little space mosquito bite, say it's a sacred tattoo, and call the alliance sealed. I can do that.”

Pidge is securely in Lance’s arms as he walks slowly over fallen foliage, so she distinctly feels his grip on her tighten. His eyes dart around nervously. “I dunno, those space mosquitoes look like they could eat you whole.”

“We’ve had worse in the name of the Coalition,” Pidge huffs. She bites her lip. “These people have done so much to help already that if me sleeping in the forest for a night to gain the favor of their god is what it takes to get even more supplies and a safe place for refugees?” She meets Lance’s worried gaze. “I can’t pass that up.” Shifting her eyes sternly, she continues, “ _ you _ can’t afford to pass that up.”

His face falls, a frown of concern on the side of his face. “I don’t like it. Something doesn’t feel right.” Brows knit together and fire lights in his eyes, anger bubbling up beneath them. “You’re the prepared one, Pidge. Don’t you feel even a little bit weirded out about this?”

Physically she feels fine, but emotionally every fiber of her being wants to burst. She hates being constrained. She hates putting her fate to chance. She hates having to utterly rely on someone else. How is pretending to sacrifice herself to a god that may or may not exist helping to save the universe?

The logical part of her brain has already worked it out. The statistical likelihood of their hunter-god actually existing is slim, especially with the absence of imagery despite their masterpieces of the rest of their pantheon. And so many of the local populace have already been sacrifices and survived not only the night, but went on back to life as if nothing had changed, just with a greater awe of the hunter-god and a nice little tattoo that they refuse to show - probably a mosquito bite considering the size of those suckers. 

“The gain outweighs the potential cost,” she says resolutely. A little knot curls up in her heart as she meets his gaze. He’s so worried for her. The part of her that loves the fact that he carries her like this also loves the attention he gives her. If anything good will come from tonight, it’s that she now knows the feeling of Lance’s well toned muscles against her skin in a traditionally romantic gesture, the same muscles that she hasn’t quite been able to erase from her dreams since first seeing him in the cryo-pod suit. 

Lance chews on his lip in thought. “I’ll have you in my sights all night,” he promises. “There’s a spot at the edge of the forest I can get a clean shot off if anything tries at you.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” she says thankfully. Aside from wanting Lance to be the one to carry her, he’s the only one who can keep an eye on her on the ground from a far enough distance that the natives will not call foul. Her heart flutters at the fact that he’d spent the day scouting for locations, just to be able to watch over her. The Castle has their cameras deployed too, but Lance will have the fastest response time. He takes this mission seriously - her safety seriously. 

Lance steps into the clearing just as the sun sets below the treeline. A stone altar covered in flowering white vines sits at the center, away from the congestion of the forest. Pidge takes a heavy breath. Lance will be able to see any feral creature before it can set itself upon her. It will be fine. One night. She can do one night with her friends keeping a careful eye on her.

He lays her down gently upon the altar. The vines give it a soft cushion, more comfortable than she’d been expecting, but she loathes leaving the warmth and security of Lance’s arms. 

Closing her eyes, Pidge hopes to imagine it as her bed, but it does not work. She can’t splay out like she normally does while sleeping - the cuffs restricting her as intended. 

“Anything I can do while I’m here?” Lance asks in concern. “Need a pillow or…?”

Pidge adjusts her head, finding a cord of vine that’s raised just so, as if it’s very purpose was to let heads rest upon it. 

“Just make the night go by quicker,” Pidge grumbles. “I’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow and my back is going to kill me - if I get any sleep at all.” 

“Not going to stay awake for the hunter-god?” Lance teases.

Pidge raises an eyebrow. “Probably doesn’t exist.” Leaning back she huffs, brows knit in frustration that she should not be feeling. “It’s not like I’m the ideal sacrifice. Should’ve chosen Allura if they wanted it to show up.” 

Lance cocks his head to the side as if musing on her words. “You’re plenty pretty, Pidge,” he says without a hint of tease. Heat invades her cheeks at that realization, because his next line is teasing, “You didn’t need the cute little bow, but it’s a nice touch.” For emphasis, he flicks the tip of the green ribbon in her hair. 

She hadn’t needed it, exactly, but knowing she’d be dressing up anyway, she figured why not. 

It  _ was _ pretty cute, she’d told herself in the mirror.

Gulping and pointedly looking away, she stammers, “J-just stay with me until nightfall.”

It makes her feel so small, the way Lance looks at her with such pity. He awkwardly looks up towards the trees as he takes a seat upon the altar and slumps his shoulders. “I think everyone will understand if you just want to sleep all day tomorrow. Not judgement.” With a snort of laughter, he looks back to her. Pidge is grateful for the change, this is the face she wants to see in her dreams. “I bet Hunk started stress baking the moment we left the Castle. You are gonna have so many peanut butter cookies ready for you to eat tomorrow.”

Pidge smirks back. The relaxed banter is a blessed bit of normalcy. “There had better be,” she teases. “I’m counting on you to check in on him.”

Lance smiles smugly right back. “You’d trust me with that most important task?”

“Only you,” Pidge insists softly. Immediately she panics, not intending for the words to come out quite that fond. 

With the sun dropping below the horizon behind him, it's difficult to really make out the subtle features on his face. Thankfully Lance wears his heart on his sleeve. He gulps and looks away and Pidge likes to imagine he blushes with a face such as that, heart warmed by her words. 

They sit in companionable silence, breaking it every so often to speak of their strategy for floor thirty-two of Killbot Phantasm and for Lance to ask what kind of breakfast she wants in the morning. Pidge keeps the time by watching the shadow of darkness slowly cover her from head to toe. 

When the sky is filled with stars, the slightest orange still hovering above the trees, Lance reluctantly stands. Her heart goes in her throat as he takes her bound hands in his, his trademark smirk plastered on his face. “I’ve got your back, Pidge. I’ll be back for you in the morning.”

She believes him. Not even because she doesn’t think she’ll even encounter anything worse than a mosquito, but simply because of his promise.

“You sure there’s nothing else I can get for you?” he asks, hovering above her.

“Just being here in the morning is enough,” she says, sighing like a lovesick schoolgirl. “I trust you.”

There’s an awkward moment when their eyes lock together and Lance lingers above her for a long goodbye. Pidge wonders for a tic too long if Lance’s face is getting closer to her own, his eyes unmoving from her own as if he were on automatic. Her heartbeat quickens when she feels his warm breath on her chilling cheeks. He’s so close. There’s an almost magnetic attraction as Pidge puckers her lips, brain short circuiting in rare form…

Lance gasps and pushes from the altar, taking several steps back, color evident on his cheeks. “See you in the morning, Pidge,” he squeaks, taking several steps backwards - and nearly tripping on a bundle of vine - before turning his back to her and into the forest. 

Just like that, she’s all alone.

The memory of the moment she’d just shared with Lance keeps her warm well into the night. It’s something to build on, something she hadn’t dared think he might reciprocate. Though without a proper talk, doubt seeps into her heart that Lance’s action - or rather near action - was just a fleeting whim. At the same time, she hates that she loves the physical attraction that had to have been there.

She certainly felt it.

As the varga tic on, Pidge wonders how long it took Lance to settle into his spot. Can he see every time she blushes when she thinks about how close his lips had been to hers? Did she give away how long she’s harbored a crush on him?

It keeps her awake. The vines that were once cushy now dig into her back uncomfortably and the robes that once felt like a cozy blanket no longer feels like enough to keep her warm. It isn’t freezing, but it isn’t her bed either. 

Pidge whines, exhaling in resignation. When she became a Paladin she knew she’d be a pilot and improving tech to keep one step ahead of Zarkon. Doing insane favors to gain allies is not something she thought she’d be at the forefront of. 

“It’s gonna be a long night,” she groans. 

At least it’s not cloudy. The stars can be her companions. The unfamiliar patterns make it fun to name brand new constellations. 

She draws invisible lines with her pointer finger, connecting the stars like dots in a children’s coloring book.

“Pa- _ chu _ !” she says absentmindedly, pretending to shoot towards the constellation she’s dubbed, ‘Lance with a paintball gun’. It keeps a grin on her face, thinking about how much fun that, or laser tag would be as a Paladin training exercise. 

Then she’d take on whoever owns the footsteps that pad towards her. So engrossed in her daydream, it isn’t until the leaves crunch nearby that she realizes that someone is actually  _ here _ .

“Lance?” she suspects first, her worry growing when no answer comes. “Jorget?” she asks next. Perhaps the head of the city council has come to check on her? “W-who’s there?”

Are there more dangerous animals in the forest than the natives realize? Or perhaps… the hunter-god actually is real. 

Moments later Pidge gets her confirmation. The hunter-god is not real. But she knows why the local populace has come to believe in one so readily. 

“Hello, Paladin,” Sendak says. His fangs shine white against the darkness. “It is a  _ pleasure _ to see you again.”

The shock paralyzes her and a raw fear seizes her heart. The presence of the Galra commander hadn’t even been a small percentage of a possibility in her mind. Pidge forces herself to scream, which is covered up - along with the rest of her face - hardly a moment later by a large purple claw.

“I knew Voltron would come this way eventually,” Sendak tells her casually. Pidge doesn’t care to listen; she twists and squirms and kicks, desperate to get off the altar where she is  _ literally _ a sacrifice. Her legs make it off the side, but her head remains a pivot point, secure in Sendak’s grip. “But to fall for my ruse and lead  _ you _ into my grasp is beyond my hopes.” He chuckles, stroking an extended claw through the ribbon in her hair. “Wrapped up as a gift.”

_ Shoot him _ , Pidge begs, wholly regretting putting the bow in her hair, as Sendak’s claws threaten to pierce the skin of her throat.  _ Shoot him now, Lance _ . He can’t hear her but surely he can see exactly who it is. 

“A swift death would be too good for you,” he continues. Almost playfully, he loosens her ribbon. “I’ll have the Lions first, then when victory is assured, you’ll do well as a slave and a trophy.”

No. No no no nono!

The green bayard materializes in her hands and she thrusts up at Sendak. There is no way she was going to leave herself completely helpless.

He howls in pain and Pidge uses the distraction to roll off the altar. Fast as she’s able, Pidge scoots to the opposite side from where Sendak is.

“Shoot!” she yells desperately.

As if an answer to her prayer, a glint of blue light whizzes past her head, the altar behind her cracking. Rubble hits gently on her head.

“Lance?” she whispers hopefully into the silence. He’s miles away right now, but she very much wishes to see him and hopefully Sendak’s dead body.

“No one is coming for you, Child.”

No additional laser fire comes. Pidge turns to see Sendak’s fist speeding for her face. 

~~~~~~

Pidge vaguely remembers falling, but not hitting the ground. 

She is no longer in the forest, that much she can tell. The smell of pine is replaced with a stale metallic tinge. It feels like metal too, whatever she is lying on, and with the massive headache she nurses, it serves as a nice cooling pack. 

The edges of her mouth are slightly sore, a weird silky material stuck inside her mouth.

The ribbon.

“You have three varga from now,” Sendak says, his voice cutting through her consciousness like a butcher knife. “Surrender the Lions or I will turn the Green Paladin over to the mercy of Emperor Zarkon.”

Ignoring her pain and stiffness, Pidge bolts up from lying on the floor of the ship. In the time it takes for her to yell, “Don’t do it!” in hopes her team will hear - or at least she tries, it comes out more mumbled than anything with a mouthful of green ribbon - she can see it’s a small Galra scouting ship, which means she won’t be able to control anything. She can only watch a wide-eyed Allura with guilt-stricken Shiro at her side through a video communication at the front of the ship. 

Sendak is facing her when he smirks unkindly, and continues to look at her when he says, “Three varga. I have some business to attend to.”

“Don’t you dare--” The way Allura and Shiro snarl in rage is but a small boost to her confidence as Sendak cuts off communication, revealing a window view of the forest beyond the ship. Pidge tries to calm her rapidly beating heart; they haven’t left the planet. There is still hope. 

“Your timing is fortuitous,” Sendak begins. “Get up.”

Pidge takes a deep breath. Three varga is a long time, an eternity to be Sendak’s prisoner. Her stomach churns into knots as she realizes it will be longer if her team can’t come for her. 

“I am up,” she decides to say, in a challenging tone. This way he understands her meaning even if he can’t understand her muted words. If nothing else, she refuses to let him get to her. 

He grabs her by the arm and pulls. The sudden strain of hanging from her arms is immediately uncomfortable, intensified by Sendak’s glare. “You’ll need to learn to follow orders better,” he says simply.

Pidge yelps as he hangs her from the top of the vessel. There’s a hook that her cuffs hang from - one of rusted iron. It isn’t standard Galra faire, Pidge realizes with fear, Sendak is  _ prepared _ . 

He grabs her chin, forcing her to look at him. Even though she is eye to eye with him, Pidge feels infinitely more vulnerable hanging here as he looks her over with a predatory grin. 

“Firstly, when I ask you to surrender, you will surrender.” He speaks evenly, but Pidge squirms and gasps lightly. He’d never asked for her surrender here on this planet.

He remembers her role in the fall of the Castle of Lions. 

And now that she’s been captured, that terrifies her. 

Adrenaline pushes the fear back for now, she’s still a Paladin of Voltron. She isn’t sure where Lance is, but considering his limited resources, she may as well say she’s currently the only one able to get herself out of this mess she’s put herself in. 

She snarls and swings her legs to kick Sendak, a move her arms immediately regret. “Let me go!” she insists, making her defiance clear - and making sure he knows she isn’t going to back down lightly. 

Sendak smirks. “I couldn’t quite hear that.” He unfurls the ribbon from around her head and lets it fall to the ground. Pidge takes in a deep breath, greedy for unhindered air. “I’d like to hear your screams.” It’s her only warning before he grabs her legs and pulls down. 

Pidge gasps sharply, bordering on a yelp as her arms stretched painfully - too far to be natural. The tension lingers, Sendak not looking as if he intends to give her any relief. Pidge focuses on her breathing, long in, long out, quiznak it  _ hurts _ . Tears fill her eyes when it feels as if her arms are about to fall off!

“I’ll give you that chance now. Surrender to me.”

It will hurt more if she says no. Her arms will be dislocated if she says no. Sendak will be mad if she says no.

The glare she gives him probably means nothing with the tears in her eyes, but it sure does feel good. “N-no.”

Sendak pulls and there is a very sickening pop. Pidge screams. 

He lets go. Hanging there limply hurts just as much without the pressure on her body. Every thought is used to occupy her mind as the pain just does not go away. Pidge chooses the most prominent tree that she can see through the viewscreen at the front of the ship as a fixed point to stare at, desperate to think of anything but the agony.

“The mark first then,” Sendak says as if discussing the weather. All too soon he’s in her face again and blocking her view of the trees. 

Pidge sucks in a breath as Sendak raises his only hand, claws long and sharp. 

The villager’s marks are no mosquito bite. 

“I have been practicing for you Paladins,” Sendak tells her with a smirk. “It must be perfect for our Emperor.”

The suspense is almost unbearable as Sendak leans forward and cups her cheek, running his index claw gently over her skin in both straight and curved lines. Pidge tries to look, curiosity getting the better of her. Better curiosity than dwell on the fact that like an artist, he’s sketching out his lines before he carves into her face. 

“D-don’t do it,” she breathes after too many tics have passed. “We’re - I don’t belong to you or Zarkon or anyone!”

Curse the irrational response from her heart - maybe if Lance wanted her heart he could have it. 

“All will belong to the Galra Empire eventually, even you,” Sendak snears. Increasing the pressure of his claw, he breaks skin. Though it feels no worse than a pinprick, Pidge knows it is not the end. Not with the possessiveness in his eyes. “ _ Especially _ you.”

Sendak pulls down - claw still under her skin. 

Pidge screams. 

She eventually stops squirming, because as much as she wishes to hit Sendak with the only limbs available to her, the more she swings her legs or moves at all the more it hurts when Sendak cuts into her cheek to make his macabre tattoo. 

Vaguely, she’s aware that she begs Sendak to stop, but time blurs together the same as her vision. Blood rolls down her neck, sticking against the tears and pooling grossly around her neckline. Her face becomes increasingly numb and her mind dizzy. Head lulling forward, Pidge wonders if maybe she can close her eyes and rest just a minute, sleep so she can forget about the pain. 

Sendak slashes wickedly across his canvas. Pidge’s eyes fly open and she shrieks. The very action of voicing anything cuts her reaction short, murmuring in pain. 

“Stay awake, I am not finished,” he says cruelly. “That is your first command.”

Pidge wants to retort, but it hurts too much. The pain is too fresh to sleep through even if she wants to attempt to defy him. 

She settles for staring blankly at her tree, thinking of all the different ways she is going to maim Sendak before she kills him. 

A sparkle appears in the tree, as if it were an ordainment reflecting the fluorescent lights of her family’s home. Pidge squints, mind fuzzy from the pain and tears impairing her vision. Maybe it's simply the water playing tricks on her.

Yet...there is no way her tears can cause a glint like that in the purple tinted lights of the dark ship.

Sendak tilts his head, giving Pidge a better view of the trees.

There is nothing hampering her hearing, so the sound that goes off is definitely Lance’s bayard. 

The material of the forward shield shatters first, then Sendak drops without a word. Pidge screams as his claw drags through her skin as he does so. 

Lance’s bayard did not have enough firepower to get through the front of a Galra ship.

It takes all of the long doboshes for Lance to arrive for her to contemplate that conundrum. He shoots the digital lock open and enters looking anxious and terrified. When he sees her, he drops his bayard - a much larger looking rifle than she remembers - and rushes over. 

“Pidge!” he cries breathlessly. He lifts her off of the hook, the relief in her arms heavenly though they still throb uncomfortably and her face stings from the fresh cuts. 

“Good…quiznak, Pidge,” Lance sobs, literally sobs as he nears panic. Despite it all, he’s resolute saying, “Hold on, I’m getting you back to the Castle!”

It’s music to her ears. Pidge trusts Lance with her life, and won’t argue about being carried again.

~~~~~~

Mind numb, Pidge recognizes cold first, then the Castle interior, and concludes she’d passed out and has spent some time in cryo-stasis. 

Lance is there to catch her, and the rest of the team there to greet her, issuing apologies and updates that blur together as nonsensical rambles. She recalls thanking them individually and being passed around for hugs, which she finds are needed because her legs won’t allow her to stand on her own yet.

Each friend peels off from the group with various duties, most to explain to Joerget and the others what went down with the hunter-god, relieved and emboldened in the fact that Pidge is okay. 

“It’s pretty cold after you get out of the cryo-pod, I should know,” Lance quips. Pidge nearly chokes as he takes off his jacket - but he stops at just his jacket, only just quelling her heart for it does nothing to diminish the images Pidge has conjured in her mind. “Here, this’ll keep you warm.”

Lance carries Pidge to her room. She does not complain, relishing in the proximity and warmth of his jacket with sleeves longer than her arm. Even as her mind clears during the walk, she makes no move to wiggle out. 

He walks her across the threshold of her room and carefully - and comically - maneuvers around the spare parts that she has arranged just as she needs them, before setting her down on her bed. The green bayard at the foot of the bed raises her spirits. Pidge relaxes into the pillow, wrapping her arms around her so that the jacket covers most of her. 

So relaxed, she doesn’t realize he’s still in her room until he says, “Is that...a sunset?”

Like the proper command in a terminal window, Pidge snaps to attention, finding Lance gaping at the pictures she has just above her bed. Her cheeks burn with embarrassment, today is the day she admits sunsets are beautiful indeed.

Especially when shared with others. 

Her eyes widen in realization, mind catching up to what her body has experienced. A hand escapes Lance’s jacket sleeve and gently touches her cheek, the one Sendak had been…

“Did it scar?” she asks quickly, before she loses her nerve. 

Lance gulps thickly and Pidge feels her insides twist into a knot, before he nods.

Pidge takes a shuddering breath before steeling her nerve. Scars happen, they are Paladins of Voltron after all, scars are supposed to be cool stories to tell grandkids.

But Pidge can’t convince herself of that, not now that she knows the horror of the war she’s fighting, and her scar comes not from battle but from torture and a personal vendetta. 

“I want to see,” she says firmly. 

She almost can’t stand the pitying look on Lance’s face. 

Dutifully, he reaches into his back pocket and produces a handheld mirror - where Lance got a makeup case from Pidge doesn’t know and doesn’t really care. She takes it gratefully and pries it open as Lance takes a seat on the side of the bed - all she wants is the mirror. 

Her throat lumps and heart drops into her stomach when Pidge recognizes what Sendak was doing. Even half finished, anyone in the known universe will know he was branding her with the emblem of the Galra Empire in a place she can’t reasonably hide with clothing. It’s still a bit sore even though it's nothing more than a thin line of slightly paler skin.

“I’m hideous,” she blurts. Pidge isn’t even sure why she says it about her entire self and not just the scar. 

“That’s not true,” Lance says, as if personally offended. “You’re beautiful, Pidge. Just like the sunset.”

The words run on repeat through her mind, as if she is a frozen computer while a human continues to type on the keyboard with no result.

Lance’s cheeks turn bright red, like he’s got an instant sunburn. “I-I mean…” he says flustered, before gaping and slowing his speech, “I mean...I…I mean it.”

“You mean it?” Pidge asks softly.

Lance nods. “I do.” He clears his throat, staring at her bashfully. “I’m so sorry, Pidge. After that massive failure you probably don’t believe me.”

“What do you mean failure?” Pidge gawks. “You literally saved my life.”

“You wouldn’t have gotten hurt if I’d done my job right in the first place,” he insists. “I  _ missed _ ,” he looks down shamefully. “You ended up hurt and I still ended up taking a risky shot.”

“You tracked Sendak all the way through the forest to find his shuttle and kill him with one shot through an obstacle,” Pidge says frankly. “That’s a steller shot, Lance, and even better tracking skills. And here I am alive, Lions safe in their hangars, because of you.”

He refuses to look at her and her heart breaks at the anguish he wears on his face. “You trusted me! My only job was to have your back and I  _ missed _ . If my bayard hadn’t evolved, I would have missed the second one too.”

Pidge growls, remembering how even from a mile away his laser bullet brushed past her ears with insane precision. “You’re human, Lance. I don’t blame you. And even if I did, I’ve already forgiven you because I love you.”

Lance snaps to attention, eyes wide and mouth gaping. 

“So,” Pidge continues, “we should finish the conversation we were having in the forest.” After nearly dying, she refuses to hold back any longer. He deserves to know and she deserves to have an answer. 

He cocks his head to the side ever slightly, eyes narrowed as if examining her, mind catching up with his feelings. “The one when we were saying goodnight?”

Pidge nods, a smile breaking out on her face that he remembers exactly what she speaks of. “Yes, that one. Heroes like us deserve something special, right?”

Lance nods, a warm smile of his own tugging up his face. “Yeah, I think I’d like to do that.”

Ever so slowly, he leans in towards her. Pidge meets him halfway, and as first kisses go, it wasn’t half bad. She doesn’t quite realize it’s ended until the warm of Lance’s lips are gone from her own and his voice stutters,

“Is that  _ me _ made of  _ trash _ ?”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](https://rueitae.tumblr.com/)! Please leave a comment if you liked it! I'm anxious to know what you liked!


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